


If we only live once

by Lady_in_Red



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, F/M, First Kiss, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 07:37:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7213564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brienne readies herself for her first battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If we only live once

**Author's Note:**

> Unusually for me, this fic is both book and show compliant. Until Sunday, at least. 
> 
> Title is from "Something I Need" by One Republic, with a wink and a nod to one of Jaime's more talked about Season 5 lines.

The castle hummed with activity as men and women, Night’s Watch and wildlings, knights and farmers picked through piles of discarded armor and boiled leather, rusted axes and dull swords. Smiths and builders had worked as swiftly as they could for days, sharpening blades and fashioning torches dipped in pitch. Masters at arms and seasoned fighters had tried in vain to teach beardless boys how to wield a blade without slashing their fellows by mistake. For better or worse, they'd finally run out of time to prepare.

Brienne stayed out of everyone's way. She’d been preparing for this night since she first picked up a sword at 12 years old. Her father hadn’t liked the idea, but had preferred it to watching Brienne wander Evenfall dwelling on a thoughtless young knight and his rose.

She needed no roses now, wanted them only because winter roses were a harbinger of spring. 

Brienne needed no knight to protect her either. She put her faith in chainmail, boiled leather, and castle-forged plate. A sword so sharp it sang as it cut through the air and shone the color of the blood it spilled. 

She ought to be nervous, making her way through the dim corridors on her way to the north gate. Brienne had not yet fought in a real battle, only melees and small skirmishes. Twice she’d arrived on the battlefield when the fighting was done, the field sodden with blood and wounded horses and men still screaming. Tonight that would change. Some seemed to welcome the fight after days waiting for word of the approaching horde. Some of the wildlings were singing, bawdy songs and bloody ones. Fear had no value here, nor anxiety.

Men bound for the south gate pushed past, one a familiar face loudly wondering how cold it had to be to freeze a man’s balls off. If he was nearby then…yes. Gold hair, bright eyes, red breastplate. 

In the crush of the corridor, everyone gave Jaime his space. Not out of disgust or fear, but out of respect. He looked and acted like a commander, so he was. Both Jon Snow and Ser Davos grudgingly respected his experience and neither could argue with the way the fighters listened to him, even the wildlings. 

His lips curled up in the ghost of a smile, and Brienne couldn’t help but return it as they approached, headed in opposite directions. Jaime and Ser Davos would command the forces at the south gate, while Brienne fought beside Jon Snow at the north gate. A smuggler, a bastard, a one-handed man, and a woman. Sometimes Brienne wondered what they were thinking, leading a ragtag army against the unquiet dead.

A hand on her arm brought Brienne up short. The wildlings had learned quickly not to touch or grope her, lest she break their fingers, and many southron knights still thought she was some kind of joke. That was part of why she would fight alongside Jon Snow. No one questioned his commands, even if it meant following her.

But the hand on her arm was Jaime’s. Even that simple touch was rare between them, and her heart sped up at that small contact. When Brienne thought now of how often she’d touched Jaime when he was her captive, she could scarcely believe she’d ever handled him so casually. 

Brienne stepped back, closer to the wall, allowing others to pass them. She expected Jaime to let go. He didn’t. They stood just apart from the passing crowds, untouched by the clanking of metal, the pungent smell of too many bodies in a confined space. 

She drank in the familiar sight of his windburned face, his eyes weary but determined. “Did you need something?” she asked. 

“Brienne,” he started, his voice so fondly affectionate it made her heart ache. 

“Jaime,” she returned in the same tone.

His eyebrows shot up, his gloved hand tightening on her arm. “Say that again.” His voice was oddly husky. 

The crowd was thinning in the corridor. They both needed to go, but she humored him. “Jaime.” 

And then she understood his reaction. No matter his lack of formality, since Harrenhal she’d always accorded him the respect due his rank and position. If she didn’t, who would? But that meant that there were things Brienne did not do. First and foremost, she did not call him ‘Jaime’ anywhere but in the privacy of her own mind.

Jaime glanced left and right. Stragglers still made their way down the corridor. Guiding her by the arm, Jaime led her to a deep, shadowed doorway. They hadn’t been alone together in days, too busy preparing the castle and its occupants for the imminent battle. 

She didn’t need this distraction tonight, these questions boiling up from the frozen heart of her. Why should it matter what she called him? Why should his mere touch heat her skin?

“We’re needed at the gates,” she reminded him. 

“I know,” Jaime snapped, then softened. “We’ve said more than our share of goodbyes.”

“True.” The memory of each one was branded into her mind, every detail captured perfectly, as if fixed in amber.

Jaime’s hold on her arm loosened, his hand trailing down studded leather and rough wool, until his fingers found hers, lacing their hands together. “This isn’t goodbye. I will see you again.” His words were unexpectedly fervent, but Jaime had seen more battles than nearly anyone in the castle. He knew better than to promise any of them would live to see the dawn.

Brienne only nodded and squeezed his hand. Parting became more difficult each time, the flood of things she wanted to say but couldn’t rising up to choke her until she could barely speak. 

Jaime stepped back, letting their hands fall apart, checking the corridor again. Just as she moved into the space he’d vacated, Jaime pressed close, his hand snaking around to the nape of her neck, holding her firmly to him.

Before she could protest or push him away, Jaime’s lips were on hers, hot and bruising in their intensity.

The air rushed from her lungs, not quite refilling when she took a shuddering breath against his lips. His tongue darted hungrily into her mouth, probing and tasting, his hard body flush against hers. And just as suddenly he was gone, leaving her lips wet and swollen, her entire front chilled without his body heat. 

“Come back to me, Brienne,” he said, tender yet still commanding. His eyes were bright, fierce.

She slumped back against the warm stones, her head swimming, as Jaime strode swiftly away. 

Brienne pushed off from the wall and rushed toward the north gate. 

Damn him.

Damn him for giving her one more reason to fight.

Damn him for giving her one more reason to live.


End file.
